Unless It Trembled With the Strings
by disableaccount
Summary: For a reason unbeknown to him, Kenny shoves a redheaded boy he's never seen out of the way of an oncoming truck. After Kenny's funeral, Stan is compelled to find what about the stranger was so alluring that Kenny had to die for him to live. StanKyle/Style
1. Prologue

**Summary - **For a reason unbeknown to him, Kenny shoves a redheaded boy he's never seen in South Park out of the way of an oncoming truck. After Kenny's funeral, Stan is compelled to find what about the stranger was so alluring that Kenny felt obliged to die for him to live. StanKyle, Style, slash

**Warnings – **language, eventual slash

**POV – **alternating

**AU – **Kenny doesn't die regularly, Kyle was never in South Park, the group consisted of Cartman, Stan, Wendy, and Kenny, and Kenny was best friends with Stan.

**Unless it Trembled With the Strings**

_Prologue_

I woke up that morning with the strangest feeling. Like something very important was coming up, and I didn't have the slightest idea as to what it was.

All throughout my morning ritual, which consisted of a shower, brushing my teeth, and putting on the only clothes that fit me, I felt like I was forgetting something. The kind of feeling you get when there's a massive essay due and you haven't written a single word. Except, I dropped out of school so there's no way it had anything to do with not having completed an assignment. Maybe I was supposed to do something for work, and I didn't? I had no idea.

Speaking of work, I was going to be late, so I headed out the door. I tried to push that feeling out of my head, but it wouldn't leave. I couldn't do anything about it, and it only got worse as the day progressed. All day at the gas station, I couldn't greet customers as friendly as I did on a regular basis. I didn't feel the slightest inclination to look at playboys, either. In fact, I felt _guilty_. Like I had done something terribly wrong. Like my entire life's sins and regrets were just… piling on me. Like there wasn't any time left.

And that's when I thought about the many instances in my life in which I have almost died. The worst of it occurred in 3rd and 4th grade, but that doesn't change the fact that something had been out to get me my entire life. It seemed like death was always knocking on my door, and everyone knew it. I'd get carried off my enormous birds, run over by cars, dragged across streets while being attached to cars, poisoned, nibbled on by rats, an unusual amount of accidental cuts in shop class, and a variety of other things. They weren't simply injuries—they were near death experiences. They became a regular joke between me and Stan, occasionally Cartman, but I never told him that I was worried.

Quite frankly, it scared the piss out of me.

On a regular basis, I felt like I could die. That's not something that most kids endure, I'm quite sure. It's incredibly unnerving and extremely hard to find the motivation to try anything new.

"Hey, Kenny, something wrong?"

I snapped out of my daydream to face the customer. "Oh, hey, Craig," I told him, trying to sound as excited as I could. Honestly, I was very relieved to see a familiar face. But, seeing Craig at the gas station meant that he was trying to win over Christophe again, who was an extremely late sleeper, so it was therefore past lunch. Damn, how time flies. "No, nothing's wrong."

He didn't have anything in his hands, so what he wanted to buy was quite obvious. He flashed me this huge, guilty grin when my realization made itself known on my face. "C'mon, you _know _you love me," he purred.

"I also know you're not eighteen yet. Sorry, but I think my job is more important than you satisfying your smoking habit," I told him, smirking.

"Aww, Kenny. Don't do this to me," he pouted, and tried a puppy dog face. The problem with this method, though, was the fact that it wasn't very cute at all, and didn't arouse any pity from me.

Nonetheless, I turned around and looked for his favorite off the shelf. I grab a lot more packs than I usually would and toss it at him. "I'll cover it," I said, and his face immediately brightened. For some reason, how little money I have and how much I couldn't afford to buy cigarettes didn't really matter today.

He shoved the smokes into his bag and grinned. "Thanks, man," he told me in an ecstatic rush, and he pulled out his phone to tell whoever sent him, who was most likely Christophe, that it had been a successful venture. After he slid his phone into his pocket, he abruptly reached over, pulled my head towards him, and kissed me on the forehead. "I owe you one!" he said before leaving the store.

God damn, Craig was such a fag.

Immediately after he left, I felt myself become absolutely consumed with that feeling of regret. It just absolutely wouldn't leave! I grew more and more upset, and found myself taking my break a half hour early. I'd get yelled at for sure, but some feeling I couldn't place told me that it wouldn't matter.

So I pulled out a cigarette and lit the thing. I had been smoking for quite some time, but I was unable to recall when the habit started. It wasn't a pleasant experience at first, but as time moved on, I found smoking to be a fantastic stress relief. When I exhaled the smoke, it was like exhaling problems. So I kept it up.

I felt an urge to talk to Stan. Then, I felt worry grip me, like something really, _really_ bad was going to happen. Or I had forgotten something huge. The feeling was beginning to get so bad that I almost hunched over and spewed my breakfast all over the sidewalk, but I kept it down. I took a drag; I exhaled the stress. But I still wanted to talk to Stan. I felt like I should, like there was something I needed to tell him.

As I continued to walk, I realize I was passing by my old high school. During the school years, Stan would skip class to talk to me on my breaks. It depressed me a little when I realized that the majority of my breaks were generally spent hanging around Park County High. Sometimes I wished I had more of an opportunity to do something with my life.

Back when I realized there would be no possible way to go to college, I immediately dropped out of high school. Since then, I had been working at a gas station until I could find a better job. Recently, I had been considering joining the army. Perhaps my uncanny ability to avoid death would prove to be useful for once, instead of freaking everyone out.

I think Stan said once he wanted to be a surgeon. He was lacking in general study skills, so I doubted that he would get far, and probably settle for something like a nurse. Nonetheless, I cheered him on. He could make it if he really wanted it; Stan could do anything he put his mind to. But, at that time, I didn't think he had realized that yet. He just… did whatever, like he was waiting for something.

Upon reaching the corner of a street, I noticed I had long since finished my cigarette, so I looked around for an ashtray or something outside of a store. With no such luck, I simply threw it on the ground. I always hated doing things like this, but I would anyway. South Park was a nice town, and it had serious potential to be someplace special if would only take care of it. Unfortunately, no one really cares. That's probably the case for every town, though.

It was at this time that I noticed two very important things. Firstly, there was a kid my age that I had never seen before who was obviously had no idea where he was going right next to me. Secondly, that wrenching feeling had completely vanished. I didn't know why, but I suddenly thought of the words _"this is it." _Like some finale was going to happen.

Curiously, I watched the boy for a while. He must've been the Jewish boy, Kyle, that everyone had been talking about for the past week or so. As of the moment, he looked a little shaken up and cold. Barely recalling the fact that he used to live in a slightly warmer environment, I laughed a little at the heavy coat he was wearing. I also took notice that he was wearing a Terrance & Phillip shirt underneath it, slightly amused at how obsessed Stan used to be with that ridiculous show.

This Kyle boy pulled out his phone, and I'm very surprised to see that he has a Nokia. Cell phones (which I didn't own, by the way) were a funny trend amongst our group of friends. Generally, everyone had the same one. But, for whatever reason, Stan was the only one that insisted that Nokia was the way to go. I bet he'd get a kick out of the new kid's phone, then.

I continued to smoke at the corner of the street, looking at Kyle. I couldn't help but also notice that he stands exactly like Stan does; both of them shifted their weight to the left, and they alternated to the other every thirty seconds, only to stand on the left once again after a second or two. Very fidgety. He was listening to his iPod a little loudly, so I was able to deduce that he was a fan of Death Cab for Cutie. This was, in fact, Stan's favorite band.

Considering this strange string of coincidental similarities, I conclude that Stan would probably get along really well with this kid. I felt a pang of sorrow that I no longer attended school, and I wouldn't get to get to know him like the others would. Some feeling told me that even if I did go to school when summer break ends, that I wouldn't have the chance. I ignored that, however, and continued to observe the new kid.

He was definitely trying to figure out where he was, and where he needed to go from where he stood. I laughed a little, because I could probably help him out. Instead, I looked around us; the streets were basically empty. Ah, but such was South Park.

I said basically because there was a single truck moving, which would, in a few seconds, go directly in front of me and Kyle.

In a few seconds. Somehow, I sensed some significance about this. _A few seconds._

Kyle finally decided which direction he was going to move in, and walked forward with his head tossed to the right. The truck was coming from the left.

Speaking of that truck, it seems like it's going really, _really_ fast. Way faster than it should be. And I'm pretty sure that it has a red light, and it doesn't look like it's slowing down, either. I don't think Kyle notices.

"Kyle! Get the fuck out of the way!" Damn, he's listening to his iPod! He can't hear me!

Dude, that truck is _going to kill him_ if I don't do something!

Everything stopped.

Without a single conscious thought,

I pushed him forward

and

the

world

_vanished. _

----

_-Claire. R&R?_


	2. Do You Believe in Destiny?

**---**

**Unless It Trembled With the Strings**

_Do You Believe in Destiny?_

_---_

**STAN'S POV.**

Kenny's death was a huge shock. Probably the biggest shock of my life. Well, there's no way that it wasn't. I mean, seriously, how often do you hear, "Oh, by the way, your best friend is smeared all over the pavement over by your school,"?

When my mom told me, I was eating a splendid breakfast of cheerios, and choked on my fucking spoon.

I couldn't believe it. Just… just the day before, Kenny and I had been throwing rocks at kids on the playground, battling it out on the Okama Gamesphere, paying Mexicans to do stupid shit, and watching crappy movies like Baseketball! And the next day they just expected me to believe he was gone? Not coming back?

Actually, Kenny wasn't smeared all over the pavement. His body was, surprisingly, fully intact. As a result, it would be an open-casket funeral. Originally, he was just going to be cremated, but a few family friends chipped in for a proper burial, myself included. Now I got to look at his face one more time and have the comfort of knowing he's buried ten feet under the ground for the rest of eternity.

_Shit._

I pushed my bowl away from me and walked out the room into the street. I didn't look, see, or care where I was going. I just ran as fast as I could. I didn't know why exactly I ran, perhaps just to get away. I didn't want to think about anything. I didn't want to think that my best friend, the person I shared all my secrets and thoughts and hopes and fetishes and goals with was…

I stopped when I ran out of breath. I had simply run around in a circle, and I was almost back to my house. Almost. Where I found myself was standing in the front yard of the new neighbors. The… Brofskis? Broncovskis? Brofuckskis? Broflovskis? I didn't have a clue, but I did know they had a son my age. Kyle.

And then I thought of Kenny again and started crying.

This was extremely significant because Stan Marsh never cries. Actually, no, that wasn't true. I cry all the time. Just… never outside. Not when people could see me. Yet, there I was, bawling my eyes out, on full display.

- - -

And there I was again, three days later, bawling my eyes out even harder at the funeral. I hadn't actually listened to a single speech about him yet, and I didn't plan on paying attention to any that would be given in the next few minutes. These people weren't Kenny, so what they had to say about him didn't matter.

My own speech had little relevance to reality. I had written one before hand, but standing in front of all of the people who knew him and talking about him… all I could say was that I loved him, that I missed him, and that I would never forget him.

When I sat back down, I took a look around me and noticed that besides me, only one other person was crying.

Dude, it was like no one cared that Kenny died. Sure, they looked sad, but they weren't crying! You cry when you're really upset, don't you? It was totally weak. Kenny deserved better than that shit! Initiate tears, now.

I was so wrapped up in my own little world, I didn't pay attention to the only speech that had any meaning behind it all. Surprise, surprise: it came from Cartman.

"As we all know, poor boy had plenty of chances to die in his life. He had a chance this time, like all the other times, and he just chose a different option. As his friend, I'm sure he had a reason. But I don't know what it is and I don't really care, but I do hope that poor asshole is having a shitload of fun in hell."

- - -

The burial wasn't any easier. Every part of my being was saying things like, "He's never coming out of there", "This is the closest you'll ever be to his body again", and "You didn't say goodbye."

It was hard to watch. Too hard, actually, so I didn't even try. I just buried my face in my hands and tears, and thought of his face when I looked in the casket. I thought of the way his yellow hair fell too long in his face, although brushed aside so his features would be fully visible in the casket. His lids closed over eyes that were as blue as the sea after a storm, and those light freckles that he denied the existence of that adorned his sun-kissed nose and cheeks.

Christ, I sound like a bad poet. Maybe that's just what happens when your best friend dies; you start to sound like a bad poet.

The next thing I knew, he was gone. The last image I had of Kenny was a peaceful one, which was quite unlike his life. He deserved peace. I hoped he had that now, if nothing else.

People started to leave, but I stayed in my place. I wasn't going to leave just yet; I owed Kenny a lot more than that. I couldn't think of anything to think about while I waited, so I stood there numbly.

"Stanley, we'll wait in the car for you. Take as long as you need," my dad said with his hand on my shoulder. Those might have been the first words I registered and understood in three days.

When everyone who was going to leave had disappeared, I cleared my eyes and looked around to see who was left. Wendy stood beside me, her hand methodically rubbing my back. I think she might have been doing that for a while in an attempt to sooth me, but I honestly hadn't noticed until just now. Cartman was attempting to be inconspicuous, but I noticed he was there too. Other than us, though, there were only Kenny's direct family and… who the hell was that kid?

I nudged Wendy and motioned to him, thoroughly confused at his presence. I was still too choked to verbalize my questions just yet, so it took effort on Wendy's part to figure out my distress call. While she looked the kid over, trying to place him, I did the same.

Firstly, I noticed he had the absolute reddest hair I had ever seen in my entire life. It wasn't even orange/ginger colored; it was just... red. Not only that, but it was a freaking _fro_. Really, really curly. It didn't look that bad, either, but it did seem like too busy a hairstyle for a simple kid, though.

Dude, he was also pretty pale. He probably didn't get out much, which is uncommon for someone in South Park. He's also got a pretty weak frame, which is also rare for a hick like the majority of the citizens here. The funniest thing was probably the amount of clothes he was wearing, especially for the summer. He seemed pretty bundled up, man.

With all of this insight, I used my deductive reasoning skills that were on a level to rival Sherlock Holmes to deduce: he was not a native South Park citizen. Genius, yes, I know.

But this led me to another question that I barely managed to choke out, "Why is he crying?"

Wendy looked at me like I was a complete and total idiot. Usually, this kind of reaction was not surprising, but I found it to be rather uncalled for in that situation. And it was following that moment when I realized that she really, honestly thought that I was neglecting the fact that we were at a cemetery and someone close to us had just died. Ergo, I clarified things for her, "He's not from South Park, so it's not like he knew Kenny. Why's he upset?"

Funny thing happened; Wendy persisted with the Stan-you-are-a-dumbass facial expression. "Dude, Stan, he's the kid whose life Kenny saved." Oh.

_Oh._

So it was him. Kyle Bro-whatever-the-fuck. The Kenny-killer. The bastard.

I bit my lip; I had no right to call him any of those things. Not only did we have his testimony (that I didn't listen to), but there was also security camera footage. Kenny had completely and voluntarily sacrificed himself to save this kid. "Kyle" had no participation with his death, but… but… if Kyle just _hadn't been there_, Kenny _would_ be here now.

I wanted to blame him, and I almost did. But I realized that his eyes were redder than mine, and the poor kid already blamed himself.

Dude, this was the only other person that had cried, even the slightest, and we were both _still_ crying.

Wendy talked to me a little more about something, but once again all I heard was a colorful assortment of "blah". After a while, she left with Cartman. I thought I saw the McCormick family leave with them… which meant I was left alone. With the new kid.

Holy shit, he had freckles in the exact same places as Kenny.

I decided I was tired of standing, so I resigned to sitting just in front of Kenny's gave. After a few moments of consideration, Kyle took the empty patch of grass next to me. For what was probably a full six or seven minutes, the only sounds were his occasional sobs and my sniffling.

During that silence, I noticed the only thing on Kenny's tombstone was "In Loving Memory of Kenny McCormick". It was so short and simple; it wasn't fair that he didn't get something creative and fun. It should say something like, "The coolest and most amazing person ever". Because he was.

Kyle abruptly broke my thought process, "You were his friend?"

I nodded; I wasn't too keen on speaking in the event that I let my distaste and unjustifiable blame for this kid turn itself into words.

"I'm so sorry."

Once again, I did not say anything, but I really wanted to. I just had to… take a break, a deep breath, and think this through a little more. I didn't want the first thing that came out of my mouth to make him feel worse about this, because it really _wasn't_ his fault, as much as I felt it kinda-sorta-really was.

"It's all my fault, man," Kyle managed out between sobs. "If only I had been paying attention or… or not listening to Death Cab for Cutie… just, ugh, Jesus fucking Christ!" He sighed, and made this weird pouty face. Like he was really blaming himself.

Huh. Death Cab for Cutie. Nice, dude. Oh, wait, I think he might want a reply. That's what people tend to want when they start talking. I think. Actually, I couldn't think at that moment so I just said the first thing that sounded appropriate.

"No, it's not. It's totally okay." I was surprised to find those words had left my mouth, because what I was really thinking was something along the lines of, "Yes, you killed Kenny. You're a bastard."

He let out a collective sigh and rubbed his temples methodically. After decreasing the stress enough to converse casually, he asked for my name. I responded quite creatively with, "I'm Stan Marsh. You're Kyle Browhat-the-fuck, right?"

"Broflovski."

"Right, right." I smiled. "Kenny wouldn't blame you, by the way. He was really forgiving," I continued to say before a silence could settle between us and make the situation more awkward than it had to be.

Kyle smiled and sniffed. "Thanks, dude."

"Yeah."

The exchange of words stopped there, and we sat in silence for the remainder of the afternoon. I thought about a lot of shit, but as time dragged on, my thoughts became more focused on the boy next to me instead of the one under the ground. He was really… nice. And really cold, apparently, because he kept hugging himself. Maybe if he hadn't have just killed my best friend, I would've let him borrow my jacket. Maybe.

A few minutes after the sun set, Kyle's stomach growled. Immediately, his pale complexion adorned a fascinating scarlet, and I wanted to tell him that being hungry was a normal bodily function and nothing to be embarrassed about, but didn't. Instead, I stood up, stretched, and offered my hand. Much to my surprise, he actually took it, and we began walking back to the parking lot.

It suddenly occurred to me that we had been there for a few hours, and my parents would probably have fallen asleep… or just gone home. I really hoped for the first, because I wasn't feeling up to calling them and waiting for them to pick me up.

Oh, disappointment, I should just learn to get used to you.

"Dude, you have a ride?" Kyle asked whilst unlocking his car. I shook my head. Nope, because my parents are freaking retarded. "You need one?"

"If you're willing," I told him, shrugging, and helped myself to the passenger seat of his car.

Kyle apparently felt the situation was awkward, because when he spoke as we left the cemetery, his voice was a little anxious. "Do you mind if we grab a bite to eat?"

"Sure thing, dude."

"And I, uhh, don't know my way around yet… so can you pick something?" he asked somewhat sheepishly.

I gave him a weak grin, trying to lighten the mood. "Are you in the mood for pizza?"

"Yeah, sure, that sounds cool," Kyle grinned back at me. For the course of the next few minutes, the only words I said were directions, and the only words that came from Kyle were acknowledgements like "okay" and "sure". I also pointed out a few places on the way that he may want to remember the location of.

When we pulled into the parking lot of Shakey's, Kyle gave me a thank you that I accidentally ignored. My thoughts were focused more on the fact that this was the last place that I had had food with Kenny. For a moment I wondered if I had subconsciously chosen this place for that very reason, but ignored the feeling and followed Kyle inside.

As soon as I stepped in, I realized I was seriously fucking hungry, so I was really relieved that the restaurant was empty today. The waitress, Bebe, took us to our table, took our drink orders, and left me and Kyle to continue our awkward little conversation.

"So, uhh, Stan, thanks for showing me around."

I shrugged. "I didn't do much. We should hang out later, though, and I can for sure."

"Sounds cool, dude," Kyle said, and he began to relax in his seat.

We didn't really talk much until Bebe brought our drinks back. Our conversation wasn't too deep or lively, and mainly consisted of finding what we have in common and what we don't. And surprisingly enough, we had everything in common. And seriously, I mean _everything_.

We had the exact same taste in music: Artist vs Poet, The Script, All Time Low, Good Charlotte, Boys Like Girls, The Killers, Death Cab for Cutie, and Modest Mouse. The only inconsistency was where Death Cab for Cutie was my favorite, Modest Mouse was his. But the other's first choice was our own second, so it was pretty much the exact same list. It pissed me off a little that he's been to see them both in concert. Lucky bastard.

We shared the same preference in pizza, as I discovered: Meat Lover's! This also lead me to find that Kyle was ethnically Jewish, but hated Kosher food with a passion, and didn't actually believe in his parents' beliefs at all. Kyle also enlightened me with the fact that he had tried going vegetarian for the animals, but had simply loved meat way too much. I told him that I had done the same thing for the first semester of sophomore year, to which he replied that his month-long vegetarian experience also occurred during the beginning of tenth grade. I thought that it was a pretty funny coincidence.

Kyle and I kind of danced around the topic of our romantic interests, because neither of us was too interested in dating. Kyle did get around to mentioning, however, that if he were to date someone, it'd be a best-friend type of person. I agreed, because I can't imagine myself loving anyone who doesn't like to sit down and play SSBB with DCFC on full blast.

To which I found out that Kyle is a crazy fan of Nintendo, which I was as well. It was about that time that the pizza arrived, and over a delicious meaty slice, we discussed our favorite Nintendo products. We agreed that the Legend of Zelda franchise was by far the best, and Ocarina of Time was the greatest game ever. We also enjoyed all the regular FPS games, but any normal teenage boy played COD, Halo, and the like, so I didn't find that to be a significant similarity. I was a little upset about how he seemed to be better at those games than I was. I made a mental note to challenge him later.

After we had finished our pizza, I asked for his number. I started laughing when I saw it, namely because it was the exact same number as mine… only backwards. Holy fucking coincidences. I was pretty sure Kyle found this funny, too.

"Ready to go?" I asked after we had finished the last of the pizza. Kyle nodded, I waved goodbye to Bebe, and the two of us headed into his car.

Now that we had broken the strangers barrier, Kyle didn't have a problem with making the ride more comfortable with some music. I amused myself with looking through his CDs, feeling strangely in the mood for All Time Low. Kyle shrugged, and I put the CD in.

Kyle had some serious freaking pipes, I might add. I turned it up obnoxiously loud while still managing to direct him to the whereabouts of my house.

"Thanks a bunch, dude. I'll text you later," I said before closing the passenger door.

"Sure thing, dude."

I watched him drive off to his house, which was within sight, before going into my own house. I saw my family enjoying their own dinner when I entered the kitchen.

"Thanks for waiting," I told them sarcastically.

My dad replied without looking up from his plate of food, "No problem, son." He was probably dead serious about that, too.

I ignored them and went upstairs to my room and threw myself on my bed. I lied face down in the covers for a few minutes until I looked at my phone. I had a few messages.

One was from Wendy telling me she loves me (platonically) and that it's gonna be okay. There was a blank message from Cartman, which only leads me to assume that he thought about sending something, decided against it, but accidentally sent an empty text instead. There were a couple others from some of my classmates, but none of importance.

I kicked off my shoes, snuggled up underneath my sheets, and fell asleep to the sounds of Sparky asking for my attention from the other side of my bedroom door.

---

Upon waking up sometime past 2 a.m. (thank god for summer holidays!) and mulling yesterday over, I concluded that it was entirely too creepy how similar Kyle and I were. As a result, I decided that I would associate myself with him no longer.

Which ended up putting myself in a weird position when Cartman, Wendy, and I were creepily watching the boy in question from our huddle a few feet from the smoothie stand.

"He looks kinda lost," I murmured, and took a sip of my smoothie. Blueberry. It was the bomb.

"Then help him out, Stan," Wendy commented after a slurp from her grape and apple smoothie. At least, I thought it was grape and apple. That didn't exactly sound like an appealing combination, so I didn't contemplate it further.

"Fuck no! He's a bastard," I said in retaliation. I didn't feel like explaining how creepily similar I had discovered we were, and how freaked out I was by it. Wendy wouldn't buy that as an excuse, either.

She tossed me this are-you-kidding-me look. "Stan, he hasn't done anything."

"He killed Kenny!" I said.

"No, he didn't, Stan!"

Ugh. I knew he didn't. I decided yesterday that I wouldn't hold Kenny's death over him, but… it was just easy to use that as an excuse.

Wendy and I ceased our brief exchange of ideas when Fatass erupted with a rather obnoxious burp. He went on to express his undesired opinion on the subject, "I saw you hanging out with him yesterday, Fag. You don't have to pretend you hold a grudge against him."

Goddamnit, Cartman. Just, God damn…

"Seriously, Stan, our trio needs a new fourth member," Wendy unrelentingly added, much to my dismay.

I pouted. "Kay, so why do _I_ have to talk to him?" I noticed then that I was out of smoothie. Bummer, dude. I should've bought two, like Cartman, because Wendy always took her damn sweet time with everything.

"Because you went on a date with him yesterday," Cartman volunteered, earning himself a stomp on the foot from Wendy. She only bothered to get on to him for being a dick if his bullying was directed at her or me, and although I'm thankful, it wasn't really necessary. Cartman was Cartman, and everyone who knew him also knew to ignore 95% of what he said.

I gave him a 5% range for the occasional intelligent statement that would accidentally find its way out of his fat-boy lips.

Just as I was about to throw away the remainder of my smoothie, Kyle and I made eye contact. Reluctantly and very much against my will, I waved him over. There was really nothing wrong with him, I thought, but I wanted to avoid him anyway. It was like gravity. I could feel myself drawn to him, like the earth's pull. But wasn't it a desire of man since the beginning of time to defy gravity, and fly? It was like that. I wanted to deny what was natural, and I didn't even have a reason why.

"Hey, Stan!" he said, a little more cheerfully than I would've hoped.

I tossed the empty smoothie to the can and missed. Cartman farted, and I ignored both of these events. "Hey, Kyle."

A silence settled over the group until Wendy gave me a not-so-inconspicuous elbow to the side. Oh, right, right.

"This is Wendy Testaburger," I said, motioning to my left. "And Fatass, a.k.a. Cartman." I'm sure he could deduce where Fatass was without me making an effort. His humungous weight was only the most obvious thing in the world, after all.

Kyle flashed this boyish smile on his pale face, and I found myself fascinated with his freckles. He and Wendy began talking about something I didn't bother to care about as I started counting the little specks. He kept moving, shifting his weight kinda like I do, so I had a rather difficult time deducing that he had thirty-four freckles, which is eight more than the amount Kenny had. Kyle's freckles, like Kenny's, were very subtle and didn't exactly stand out. I supposed his was just a thing that came with the strawberry-red hair, and Kenny's from being out in the sun so often.

"What do you think, Stan?"

That Kyle's freckles were cool, and that I kinda wished I had some too so I could join the club. "Think about what?"

Wendy gave some exaggerated sigh. "You never pay attention!"

I smiled. Wendy frowned. "I know."

Kyle laughed and filled me in, "Who's better: Ironman or Wolverine?"

"Wolverine. Duh," I said.

"I thought so too," Kyle replied, and I thought I saw his green eyes sparkle a bit.

Wendy looked angry for a minute, and I patted her on the head. "You just like Ironman because you think Robert Downey Jr is cuter than Hugh Jackman."

At this, Wendy flew her arms in the air, smacking Cartman in the face in the process. A yelp of annoyance went ignored as Wendy protested, "I do not! You know I was a bigger fan of Ironman before that movie came out!"

Fatass whined, "Wendy, I like Ironman better!"

"Yeah, but your opinion doesn't count," I shot at him, and Wendy walked off, mumbling something about the bathroom. Fatass took that opportunity to buy a hotdog, which left me and Kyle alone. At first I contemplated asking about how they got into their little debate, but I immediately noticed that Kyle was wearing a Wolverine shirt. That explained it, then.

"Nice shirt," I audibly noted.

"You too," he said in reply, and I glanced down to see what shirt I was wearing. Dude, it was just a plain brown shirt.

I looked up in confusion to find Kyle suppressing a giggle. "Very funny," I told him.

"No, man, I'm serious," he stopped to laugh for a few seconds, quite obviously _not_ serious. "It looks so delicate, soft, and, uhm... luscious."

I cracked. Luscious? Really?

"Yeah, man. Totally luscious. And those jeans of yours? Damn, they look like Jesus made them," I said, continuing the joke through a healthy amount of laughs.

"They _feel_ like Jesus made them," Kyle responded, and looked me over for something to comment on, finger on his chin in thought. "And your _hat_," he uttered a rather fake groan before continuing, "looks like it was made in heaven. I can hear the angels' trumpets now. Glorious."

"Oh, you fucking bet it was," I said, and turned into a fit of giggles. The situation was officially hilarious. "But don't get me started on your _scarf_. I'd just fucking love to rip that thing of your body and—"

"Dude! Faggot alert!"

Damnit, Cartman! "Shut up, Fatass, it was a joke!"

He scoffed and took a bite of his hotdog. "I'm sure it was, fag. Just take your gay shit elsewhere when you decide to fuck."

I noticed that Kyle had glanced off to the side, and a light blush tainted his cheeks. Of course, not everyone was used to this monstrous asshole we occasionally label as a friend, so it was perfectly natural for him to be uncomfortable. I brushed it aside when I saw Wendy emerging from the restroom.

"So, I think Bebe's party is still on. I ran into her just now," Wendy said, and glanced at Kyle. "Do you wanna go?"

Before Kyle could answer, I voiced a question. "The day after Kenny's funeral?" I thought I came across as sounding a little bit more upset than I actually was, but I didn't care. It was important. You don't just go off and fucking celebrate after a kid you've known your whole life dies.

"Stan, she's had this planned for a while. It's not like she knew Kenny was going to die," she said, and shot her head back at Kyle in anticipation for his answer.

I didn't like her reasoning, but I put up with it. It was true, after all.

"Uhh, sure, I guess. Who is Bebe?" Kyle responded sheepishly.

I kicked Fatass in the leg to tell him to chew more quietly and stop farting before I answered, "She was our waitress last night. The blonde one with huge knockers."

And then Wendy kicked me in the leg, which I ignored. I made cups with my hands in front of my chest for extra impact. They both ignored this, to which I pouted.

"Okay, then. When is it?" Kyle asked, checking his phone for what I assumed to be the time.

Wendy thought for a minute, and brushed a strand of hair over her shoulder. I never noticed how friggin _long_ it is. It went down to her waist, man. That was totally creepy. I thought girls with short or curly hair were definitely the best. And something colorful, definitely not black. Wendy's hair didn't exactly matter anymore, since we had long since stopped attempting a relationship.

"Sometime around nine or ten," Wendy said thoughtfully, eyes cast upward in thought. "Or at least, I think that's it."

I shrugged. "We'll show up around ten, then. Should we bring beer?"

Now Wendy shrugged, and Kyle looked a little nervous. I figured that he probably wouldn't have a way of obtaining any. "Bebe usually has it covered, but I can take some of my dad's shit for the four of us, just in case. He won't notice."

Kyle, Wendy, and Fatass decided that was a cool idea and they were down with it, and we proceeded to engage in idle chatter. Our little quartet eventually got bored of standing around, so Wendy volunteered to give Kyle a tour of South Park, to which he agreed after a tossed glance back at me. I shrugged, Fatass complained, and we followed Wendy. I didn't talk much during the "tour", but I listened to Kyle a lot.

I noticed that he was really, _really_ smart. Way smarter than I could ever hope to be, and probably smarter than Wendy. That was saying a lot, because Wendy was a freaking genius. I wished Kyle had been around since freshman year so he could have challenged her for the title of valedictorian. _That_ would prove to be a very entertaining situation.

Sometime around seven or eight, we decided to go home. Kyle promised to pick me up since I didn't have a car in my possession as of the moment. Cartman muttered something about being glad about not having to haul my ass around, and something else about how there had better be a lot of fucking people at Bebe's.

I kind of hoped there wouldn't be, because it would be really reassuring if everyone was too busy mourning Kenny's death to come.

---

Oh, disappointment, welcome back.

Bebe's party was huge, as Bebe's parties tended to be. The music was loud, people were drunk, and the place was a mess. I felt upset already.

Cartman immediately left for the kitchen, and Wendy immediately left to find Bebe. Those two were really good friends, which I didn't quite understand. Bebe wasn't a slut or anything, but she was so… adventurous. She liked things crazy. Wendy was more intellectual and preferred things organized. It was weird, but it apparently worked. Friendships were weird.

Then I noticed Kyle and I were alone again. Why the fuck did that keep happening?

I shook off the feeling of being upset over the fact that no one cared about Kenny's death and decided that I would enjoy myself. With Kyle. He was apparently not feeling up to making new friends.

At first I wasn't even close to being hyped up about the situation, but by the end of the night (or morning, your choice), Kyle and I had clicked once again. We were drinking and talking about the most random shit, most/all of which we had a mutual interest for.

I discovered that we shared favorites in alcohol, TV shows, cakes, sock brands, and colors. It was still creepy as hell having so much in common with a complete stranger.

I eventually decided to embrace it, though, as opposed to defy it. This weird otherworldly power that kept drawing us together won out, and I found myself looking forward to the upcoming school year. Kyle was going to make an awesome friend.

---

_-Claire. R&R?_


	3. A Reason We Exist

**A/N:** This chapter includes Bradley from Cartman Sucks, the second episode from season eleven and the vamp kids from season twelve's Ungroundable. If you haven't seen them, you definitely should because they're awesome and relevant to this chapter.

Also, I'm sorry for the late update! I'm so sorry, I forgot I submitted this fic! They normally just sit on my computer. I guess I'll have to actually finish it, haha! I'll try to get it more regular. Another thing, this fic is going to take a more angst-free route. I love angst like I love yaoi, but I have a different premise for this fic. ;P alright, thanks, and enjoy!

**---**

**Unless it Trembled With the Strings**

_A Reason We Exist_

---

**KYLE'S POV.**

My first impression of South Park wasn't exactly the best. Naturally, I was expecting a white-bread, hick, and generally pathetic town filled with a bunch of rednecks whose lives revolved around their guns and the local bar. I immediately felt out of place in my heavy coat and scarf, distinctly un-muscular body, pale skin, and this weird, churning feeling in my stomach that I would never belong. I was coming from a city with an impressive, active, and interesting background, and I felt I would have nothing in common with anyone of my new residence. The feeling was depressing as crap, but I couldn't shake it off. It really set back my goal to make new friends before the school year started.

For the first week after moving in, I didn't really leave the house. I was busy unpacking and trying to make the foreign territory I was entering feel more like home, and pretty much transfigure my current room into something identical to my old one. But, every time I looked out the large window next to my bed, it reminded me that it wasn't.

Thus, I eventually gave up resistance to South Park and decided to take on the town. I needed to find the school, certain stores, restaurants, and the like. Embarking on that ever so delightful quest, I had no idea that that venture would lead me to finding myself very familiar with the cemetary.

Well, the events that came after that little endeavor are in the obituaries.

I felt terrible. I felt like it was my fault. After all, how could it _not_ be? I wasn't paying attention; I was listening to Summer Skin as loud as it would go, trying to utterly block out a town I didn't want to be a part of. Obviously, the attempt to walk around in denial was successful, because I couldn't see a freaking _truck _headed in my direction. I saw that kid, Kenny, smoking at the corner. He was looking at me like he knew something; like my destiny was a pie slammed on my shirt and all over my face. I've been told I wear my heart on my sleeve, after all.

I wish I could have heard his voice. After he died, I was more upset over that complete stranger's death than I was over anything I could ever recall being upset over in my life. I apologized to his family, but they assured me it wasn't my fault. The only relative of Kenny's that even seemed remotely upset was his noticeably southern mother. I found some of his friends and apologized to them, trying to figure out who was closest to him and to who I owed the most sympathetic apology. From what I heard, a raven-haired boy was his best friend. They were the kind of best friends that were attached at the hip.

I took that away from him because _I _was being oblivious and trying to live my life in denial over the fact that this cruddy mountain town was going to be my new home. My fault. _My fault_.

Being the only one who cried at Kenny's funeral made me incredibly uncomfortable. Because I (and that one other boy) was crying made me feel like everyone knew and everyone thought it was my fault. Like twisting the knife wound already in my chest. Not to mention I just felt that much _more_ out of place. Some of those tears that I say were for Kenny were also for myself; upset and depressed over moving to a town I wanted no part of.

That one other boy who cried was Kenny's funeral was his best friend, Stan. Of course he would cry; I took his best friend away from him. He almost cried as much as I did.

No one really cared at the burial, either. His parents even left before I did. God, South Park was freaky as hell. I missed the big city.

But then I talked to Stan Marsh, got to know him a little. He wasn't a bad guy. Maybe it _was_ a little weird how well we got along, especially since we were bonding over the loss of a person, but that honestly didn't bother me. I was just so incredibly relieved that I had found someone I could get along with so quickly, even though I killed his best friend. Something told me I would blame myself for that for a while.

So, that being said, I was now contemplating calling or texting Stan. We had each other's numbers since after the burial, but I always thought it was gay to text people after just meeting them. Perhaps going out and meeting new people would be a good idea? Nah.

And then I remembered that my mother had asked me to help my dad move furniture into the house. Perfect excuse. I promptly dialed Stan's number.

"Yeah?" he answered, sleepily.

I tried not to sound overly cheerful, "Hey, Stan? It's Kyle."

"Hey, Kyle."

"What's up?" I said awkwardly, contemplating starting a conversation before asking for a favor.

I had a feeling he was shrugging on the other line. "Nothin' much. You?"

"Well, I have to move some furniture around for my mom. Do wanna lend a hand?" Oh, no beating around the bush. Damn, that was a lot more blunt than I had intended. And, honestly, my dad and I were perfectly capable of moving it on our own. But if I got it done early, I would spare myself a bitchfit from my mother. Plus, I was bored and Stan was the only guy I knew at the moment. Yes, this justifies this.

" Uhh… sure, dude. When do you want me over?"

"Soonish, I guess? Do you know where my house is?" I say, ignoring a little flip of relief my stomach did.

He made something akin to 'hmm' before responding with a yes. Stan then told me he would walk to my house, but he'd need to change out of his pajamas first.

It was three in the afternoon. Stan was a lucky little bitch; my mom never let me sleep that long. Her excuse was something along the lines of it having a negative effect on my health. The only thing bad for my health would be her attitude, man. But whatever, it didn't matter.

So, after contemplating how to spend the next few minutes, I made myself a cup of hot chocolate and waltzed outside to unload some things from the moving van. I didn't know much about Stan, so I didn't know if he was the type to show up an hour late or not. That would kinda suck, because_ I_ was the type of guy to sit around for an hour, muttering a colorful assortment of obscenities, and freaking wait in the cold.

Needless to say, I was very relieved to see Stan walking up fifteen, twenty-ish minutes later. He was dressed a lot lighter than I was, but I should've expected that. He was used to the fuck never, ever, ever ending snow, unlike myself.

"Hey, man!" he greeted with a lazy, I-just-woke-up smile on his face. Refreshing.

I grinned and nodded. "Hey," I replied, and pointed to the truck. "My mom'll move the furniture where she wants it. She just wants us to get the heavy stuff in the right rooms."

"Sounds cool," he said. I opened up the back of the moving van and climbed in. I couldn't help but laugh a little at our choice in furniture. From what I had seen through open or open-curtained windows and the few places I had actually gone to, the style here was all the same. It was simple and bold. And here came the Broflovskis and their fancy, expensive methods. I noticed some strange, checkered curtains lying on a couch that we'd later have to move. They looked like some classy diner, or something. Was the fuck was my mom thinking when she bought those?

Stan was looking at them, too, with a very confused facial expression.

"We can burn them later, if you're up for it," I suggested. I positioned myself behind an armoire and grabbed it to indicate I was ready to move the thing.

He shook his head and grabbed the other end. "Nah. They're alright."

"Bullshit, man. They're hideous. I'm definitely going to hide them," I said as we carefully got the wooden heavy-as-shit armoire off the van.

"Dude, I wouldn't know. I think they're cool."

Oh, the wonders of children who have grown up in a five thousand population town. Ugh.

But then I thought about it for a bit. According to all the popular movies, if someone from a big city moves into the middle of nowhere and hates it, they become super popular and get to fuck a vampire or something. And they usually end up loving the town.

Plus, there were the added benefits of not having to be up-to-par with everyone else. If I was lucky, I would get to set the standards myself. And get a vampire.

You know, Stan kinda looked like a vampire.

Actually, on second thought, he was too tan. He must play a few sports or something, because he's looked pretty in-shape. Wendy looked more like a vampire. She even sparkled a bit, I thought. Might've been makeup, though. I never really paid attention to chick things like that.

Conversation between us came easily. We crossed the discussing favorites line over to telling stories from our childhood. I told him a few things about the city and mentioned a few things that I thought that I would have trouble adjusting to, mainly the lack of stores and people.

And then Stan told me about South Park.

Since I had mentioned something on the academic subject (because I focus quite a lot on academics), Stan's eyes got extremely wide and he had this face that told me he was just dying to tell me something. Bursting at the seams, even. So I told him to go ahead, and he did.

Mr/s. Garrison, eh? What a character! And there was no fucking way in hell I was going to tell him I had actually read _The Valley of Penises_. The reason being primarily because I don't think any excuse could _ever_ justify why I would even have a copy of… _that_ on hand at any given time.

"I heard he might be teaching English next year. We might have him as a teacher," Stan offered.

Author of _The Valley of Penises_ plus teaching English would equal the end of the world, for sure. But I found myself hoping for it anyway. I had never had a teacher even that close to awesome. Or Psycho, whichever.

Unless you count Ike's pedophilic teacher, that one time. Yikes.

He told me about a few of his friends and the people I would be getting to know at Park County High when school started again. I didn't really catch all the names, but the tweeker seemed like a fun guy, and so did the kid with a non-verbal obscenity obsession as well as the son of Satan.

Get this: they even had a token black guy!

"For real, dude?" I ask through a fit of heaving from lifting furniture and laughter. He said it like it was some magnificent accomplishment or something, and I was near buckling over in amusement. Note to self: do not laugh while hoisting heavy furniture up a flight of stairs.

"Yeah! We used to rip on him a lot for being richer than the rest of us. He went and tried to join a family of lions once, or something, and Cartman was sent to Juvenile Hall for throwing a rock at him!" Stan said. Damn, I wished that furniture wasn't in the way; I would've killed to see Stan's face right then.

We got the dresser up the stairs after a few more heaves. "That's hilarious, man. What's his name?"

"Token," Stan said, grinning like a fucking monkey. I did, too, but mainly because of his face.

After that very enlightening conversation with Stan, I found myself _very_ excited for the next school year to start. Now, I may have focused a lot on academics in the past, but that does _not_ mean I liked it. At _all_. So, that being said, my anticipation for school was very foreign. Nothing I could say about the city even compared. Because, really, how many people can say they sent Shamu to the moon in fourth grade?

We got kind of tired after a short while, because the majority of the furniture needed to be taken up the stairs. Dismantling a lot of it was also an enormous pain. Stan suggested we listen to music, so I put on a Killers CD.

"What, no Death Cab for Cutie this time?" he asked, smiling.

I told him that I was listening to DCFC when Kenny died, so I replaced them with the Killers. He barely kept smiling, but his eyes didn't. Damn. I hated bringing down the mood.

We ended up listening to a mixed dance CD of mine that I burned sometime last year. I was embarrassed over a few of the songs I had put on there, but we had a great time laughing at me when some bullshit Lindsay Lohan song came on. Or at least, Stan did. Jerk.

After we finished the majority of the hard work, I grabbed some Coca-cola from the fridge for the two of us. We laughed over a few more jokes, but the conversation seemed to wrap itself up. I hated it when things happened like that, because everything got awkward afterwards. Like it was doing now. We were both using that "gotta get off the phone" voice, and we weren't even intending to.

"I'll call you later, man," he said, smiling. I was growing to like his smile a lot. Out of courtesy, I walked him to the door.

When he opened it, though, I saw this awkward little blonde kid walking around in front of my yard. I think he was playing some weird game by himself. What the fuck…? I swore I heard him singing something involving the words, "Lu, lu lu…"

"Hey, Butters!" Stan yelled, catching the dude's attention and waving him over.

Crap, he knew this kid?

"Hey, fellas!" the kid responded. So his name was Butters, and I soon noticed that he had this awkward fidgety problem. I wondered if he had always done that, because it seemed like something you outgrow before you enter middle school.

Stan waved him over, again, because Butters apparently missed it the first time. "Dude, Kyle, this is Butters. Butters, this is Kyle."

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Kyle!" Butters said, a little too cheerfully for my taste. He stuck his hand out, so I shook it out of courtesy. He seemed like a pretty okay kid in general, I guessed.

"Right back at you," I told him.

And then no one had anything to say. Butters kept fidgeting, really nervous about something, and Stan looked like he was about to fall asleep on us. God damn awkward pauses. A gay baby was born somewhere because it.

Not like that's a bad thing. I was probably born in one of those moments.

"Uhm, Stan," Butters stuttered, breaking the silence. "I was actually on my way to your house," Butters told him, taking a moment for a deep breath. "I have something… personal I want to ask your help with."

Needless to say, I felt awkward. Very awkward. "Do you want me to go, then?" I offered.

"N-no, it's okay, Kyle. Everyone's gonna know eventually."

Now I'm curious. Very curious.

"Well, what is it Butters? You wanna come inside, first?" Stan offered. At first, I was a little ticked over how he made himself so welcome, but then it relieved me a little. He felt comfortable enough already to do something like that, so I smiled.

Butters nodded and followed us in, and the three of us sat down on newly-positioned furniture. Once again, Butters took a deep breath, and Stan wasn't even attempting to hide his amusement. "Why don't you get straight to the point?" Stan suggested.

The blonde nodded. "Okay, well… I thought about it, and even though my parents will probably ground me, I'm gay." He paused. "And…"

Woah, man. This was intense. And in front of a complete stranger, like myself? Kid had balls. "And?"

"And I really, _really _like Bradley. You know, the one I met when my parents sent me to bicurious camp..." Butters trailed off, looking down at his hands and fidgeting a little.

"Yeah, I know him. Doesn't he live around here?" Stan asked, looking surprisingly comfortable with the situation.

Butters nodded. "Y-yeah. Do you think you could help me out, Stan?"

Fuck, with the way that kid was looking at Stan with those puppy-dog eyes, I highly, _highly_ doubted he would refuse.

"Of course, dude!" Stan said, face lighting up. He abruptly stood up and gave Butters a rather loud high-five, to which the kid tried to hide the fact that it stung. And then Stan looked at me with this ridiculously happy face like he had the greatest idea in the world and said, "Dude, let's go talk to Bradley."

Right. I forgot I was a part of this too.

Not that I mind. I'm actually looking forward to it. I'm gay myself, actually. I think. Well, I'm pretty sure. I had a boyfriend, and I think I still have some of his clothes in my room. We broke up before I moved here, but I've never had a girlfriend to compare the two. I'm bi. But right now was about Bradley, so I decided to keep this bit of information to myself until the moment came up.

"Sure, but now?"

"Why not?"

"Uhm, alright then. Let me go grab a coat."

I ignored Stan snickering at me as I walked up the stairs to my room. It's not my fault I'm not used to the cold dude. I grabbed the first one I found, and walked back into the kitchen to see that Stan was letting Butters out the door.

I grabbed my car keys off the counter, "You ready to go?" He nodded yes, so we piled into my car. And then he laughed, really loudly. That kind of laugh you laugh when you're trying not to.

"What's up?"

"Your coat, dude. It looks gothic or something."

I looked down. Right. Of course I'd grab my ex-boyfriend's coat. And of course, it's the wannabe-gothic coat. God damn.

"No it's not, dude. It's just some fag coat from hot topic or something. It's not mine." He gave me his that-is-bullshit-but-I-will-let-it-slide look, and I rolled my eyes. It's not worth convincing him over. So I said instead, "Where to?"

"I wanna say Bradley's house, but that'd be fucking creepy. Let's try the arcade."

"Directions?"

"Turn left up here, and then right, and then like six minutes later you take another left. It's the street by the porn store," he says casually and blatantly. Right. I hate to think that it'll be me who knows where everything is in relation to the porn store off the top of my head by the end of the year. Ugh. But maybe it won't be so bad after all. I mean, so far everyone seems nice.

"Of course the 'arcade' is next to the porn store," I said jokingly.

"The porn store was right next to where Kenny used to work," Stan mumbled.

Of course it was. God fucking dammit. Kenny was just going to keep coming up, wasn't he? I had to get over that. I felt terrible, sure, but South Park was the kind of town where everyone knows everyone. He was going to keep coming up, so I _had_ to stop feeling so damn terrible every time I heard his name.

The conversation was a little awkward after that, if you could still call it a conversation.

We arrived at the arcade shortly and without difficulty, and we walked in. After a few seconds of looking around, I realized I had no freaking idea what Bradley looked like. And for no discernible reason, I decided not to mention this fact to Stan when we split up.

Thus, I was feeling very confused when a group of goth kids approached me.

Even more so when they told me how "dark" and "mysteriously beautiful" I was.

"Pardon?" I asked, almost stuttering.

The lead of the group of Goths checked me out, eyes lingering on my coat. Damn, I just had to wear the Hot Topic coat today, didn't I?

"I've never seen you before. Did you just move here?"

"Do you have any friends to hang out with yet?"

"That coat. You're so dark, and handsome. You should hang out with us. We're about to go to the mall."

"And your hair is the color of blood. I think you belong with us."

Suddenly that brief thought I had about my moving to South Park becoming something similar to that shitty Twilight movie is having me concerned. The fuck is with these kids? They look a lot younger than me. Freshmen, maybe. But they sure as hell creeped the piss out of me.

So instead of telling them my thoughts exactly, I say, "Actually, I think my hair is more of a clamato juice color."

"Same as blood, basically."

Riiiiiight, so I was just gonna head over in the other direction. You know, away from these kids. Yeah. Real subtly, just like that… and spin around and hey look! There's Stan. I took that opportunity to grab him and practically drag him to the door.

Real subtle. Smooth, Broflovski, smooth.

"Dude, what's up?"

I shrugged. "Dunno, those goth kids started like, trying to recruit me to their clan or some dumb shit like that."

Stan frowned at me. "Dude, those aren't the goth kids. Those are the faggy vamp kids. The goth kids here are actually really cool. Most of them have graduated, but they were awesome. Still are."

I raised an eyebrow. "They were awesome?"

"Yeah, dude. I was a goth kid once."

"You. You were a goth kid." I phrased it more like a statement of disbelief rather than an inquiry. He nodded. "Dude, why?"

Stan shrugged. "Both times I was really upset over Wendy breaking up with me. I'm still pretty close friends with them, actually."

"As in, hang out and play video games or occasionally drop a message on their facebook wall kind of friends?" I said jokingly.

He laughed. "As in, they buy me booze when I can't get any from my dad and occasionally cigarettes."

"You don't strike me as a smoker," I noted.

"Picked up the habit from Kenny and Christophe. And Craig. But only when I'm around them." Stan explained, and turned around to glance at who are apparently distinguished as the vamp kids. You know, I'm going to guess Stan was around Kenny a lot, meaning he probably smoked fairly often. It always seemed like fact that most kids in hick towns did. But that probably won't be a problem anymore. Ugh. Kenny,Kenny. I guess I should expect him coming up more than usual when I've befriended his former best friend.

I voiced my more prominent worry aloud, "Dude, they're still staring at me."

"Yeah… well, Bradley's over there, so we should probably talk to him." I looked to where he pointed; the kid looked decent enough. Maybe a little nervous, but so was Butters. Maybe they'd work.

"Isn't that like, stalking?"

"I dunno, you wanna stay here and talk to the vamp kids, then?" Stan suggested, grinning. I think he might have won this one.

"Dude, what _is_ a vamp kid? I never knew there was a difference."

"Vamp kids are prepubescent girls obsessed with Twilight and think they're dark, vampires are romantic, glittering is a vampiric trait, and clamato juice is a sufficient substitute for blood."

"Have they like, never seen 30 Days of Night?"

"Apparently they haven't seen Dracula, either."

The vamp kids took that opportune moment to waltz over to offer me a glass of… clamato juice and tactlessly began shooting me down with the most obscure compliments pertaining to some kind of sparkly, yet still dark, aurora I was apparently giving off.

And then I noticed Stan was talking to Bradley.

God dammit.

"It's snowy and sunny in South Park, not rainy and cloudy. Why the fuck would a vampire move here?" I explain, a little stressed at how arbitrary their questions were.

"So you're not a vampire?"

"No."

"Are you sure? _Absolutely_ sure?"

"Pretty damn."

The group looked frustrated, and an awkward silence settled over us. One of them glanced off to the side, took a sip of clamato juice, and sprung a boner. Well, hot damn.

While I'm busy having a staring contest with the lead vamp kid, some other boy that looks strikingly similar to Stan tapped me on the shoulder and lead me away from the vamp kids and to the smoking section. I don't say anything until he lights a cigarette and that group of creeps had left the area. I also checked to see if Stan was still talking to Bradley, which he was.

"Hey, thanks for that," I said.

"No problem. They harass anyone who shops at Hot Topic. I'd say it kills their sales, but they probably fund the place all on their own," he mumbled to me in what was probably the most monotonous voice I had ever heard on a teenage boy.

I rolled my eyes. "Gotta start wearing my own clothes, then."

"Might be wise," he said. "I'm Craig."

Oh, Stan mentioned smoking with this dude not too long ago. I'd probably be seeing a lot of him once school started up again, so I figured it'd be a good idea to get to know him.

"Kyle. Just moved here from Cali."

"Yeah, I saw you at Bebe's party with Stan. And at Ken's funeral with Stan. And at Shakey's with Stan." He said rather bluntly. That could have just been his voice, though.

"Okay, I get it. I need to make more friends." What a dick. I hung out with Cartman and Wendy once, if that counted for anything. Speaking of those two, I swore I thought I saw them having a little bitchfight on the way here. I wondered if they hung out often, because they seemed like they were more prone to arguing than having any sort of fun.

"No, dude, I was going to ask if you wanted to go to the Super Phun Tyme with Stan and a few other guys with us tomorrow, since you seem to be good friends with him. Except for the fact that he kinda left you alone with the vamp kids." What a master of subtlety you are, Craig.

"Isn't that like a Chuck E Cheese? For fourth graders and shit?"

To this, Craig grew this ridiculous grin. The kind that people wear after telling a really bad joke to a group of wasted friends that makes it contagious as fuck and pretty soon everyone's grinning and they're not sure why. He took a drag and slid his hand in his pocket like he was the coolest kid in the world before. Which he's not. He actually looked pretty silly. "Ours isn't."

"Oh, really now?" I asked skeptically, not bothering to hide it in my voice.

"Nope." He took another drag. Like I said: like he thinks he's the coolest kid in the world. Dude, I don't mind smoking. It kills you, great, and if you wanna die that's cool. I don't. But it's not _cool_, man. Just because you're holding a cigarette between your fingers doesn't make you cool.

I go ahead and ask for a smoke anyway. Damn ex-boyfriend, getting me into the habit.

"What's so special about your Super Phun Tyme, then?" I asked, lighting up a cigarette.

"You'll have to come with Stan and find out, Kyle."

Right. Of course I will.

Hey, it looked like Cartman and Wendy were here. I guessed they did hang out often, then. Hmm. Well, including Butters and Bebe, I know seven kids in my class. Eight if you count Kenny, which I don't. I'm not sure how old Bradley or the vamp kids are, so I can't count them. But still, that's seven people more than my initial goal of people to meet over the summer! I'm making some fucking sweet progress.

"I might show up, then," I told Craig, before he nodded, stepped on his cig, and walked off to go talk to someone else. I'm not the type of person who is fond of standing around smoking alone when someone he knows is on the other side of the room, so I didn't bother finishing the whole cigarette before I walked over to Stan.

Just as he was finishing the conversation. Awesome, I missed all the good parts. Stan looked happy, so it was probably good news.

"Dude, Bradley's going to ask Butters out tonight. Score one for Butters! You don't realize how huge of a step this is for him."

You know, considering his display of awkwardness in my yard earlier today, I think I actually do.

"Awesome, dude. What now?"

Stan shrugged. "We could hang with Butters and Cartman. I saw them walk in earlier."

"I'm not really in the mood," I told him honestly.

"Neither am I," he said after flashing me a really nice smile. I had a feeling he was pretty popular with the ladies. Or could be, if he wasn't. "We could go to my house and play video games."

"That sounds cool to me."

So the two of us got back into the car, and Stan gave me directions to his house. I didn't really need them, but I didn't want to start feeling at home to this foreign place so quickly. Kinda sucked how easily I was just… fitting in. I was starting to want a really dramatic entrance, you know? But it sorta feels like I've always been here with the way complete strangers are treating me. Everyone here's friendly, and it creeps the piss out of me. Could be the aftermath of Kenny's death.

He lead me up to his room which was in the same position as my little brother's, as all the houses were basically the exact same. His older sister, Shelly, came in and yelled at us before we had even started doing anything, but Stan said to just be glad she didn't throw a chair at us.

He told me to pick out a game to play, and upon noticing he had an Okama Gamesphere sitting in his room, I just about jizzed my pants. Especially when he had Thirst for Blood lying around.

Needless to say, we didn't do anything else for the next few hours. Or the next half a day, your pick.

"Dude, did you know 'okama' is Japanese for gay?" I offered mindlessly inbetween levels at one point.

"Really?" he snickered.

"Yeah, man. Homosexual Gamesphere." I laughed every time I thought about. Fucking Japanese.

"Dude, weak!"

At one point, we did actually move around. Stan had gotten up to go grab some drinks and I had laid out on his floor, stretching or something. I glanced over underneath his bed, when a piece of paper with scribbles caught my attention. A poem. One of those poems that goth kids write. Hah, it looked like he had hung out with him a little more than just for the booze and smokes.

Stan walked in a few minutes later and frowned when he saw what was in my hand.

"Stab your eyes out with razorblades? Your heart has been raped? Really, man?"

"Shut up, asshole."

_---_

**A/N: **My little sister's birthday is today so I hurried up and wrote this chapter. It's kind-of her present, so it hasn't been beta'd by her yet. :| so forgive any errors, because I'll probably correct them soon! Thanks a bunch for the reviews, everyone, I love every one! Please log in to review so I can reply, to them. ;P (I think I forgot a few, but I don't remember which. Urk.)


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